Deep-Fried Whitebait

The smell reaches the table before the plate does. Hot oil, salt, something crisp and faintly briny. A plate of whitebait, golden and tangled, with lemon alongside and nothing else to complicate it. This is estuary food. Thames food. The sort of thing that used to begin every decent pub supper from Southend to Whitstable and still should.

Whitebait are tiny, whole fish, eaten head to tail, bones and all. If that bothers you, look away. If it doesn't, you're in for something good. They want nothing more than seasoned flour and very hot oil. Two minutes in the pan. That's the extent of the technique. The rest is timing: getting them to the table while they're still crackling, still hot enough to make you blow on your fingers before you reach for another.

I make these when people are coming round and I want something to put on the table while the rest of dinner finishes itself. A bowl of whitebait with drinks, everyone standing in the kitchen reaching over each other, lemon juice on their fingers. There are few better feelings than watching a plate empty that quickly.

The market decides, as always. Fresh whitebait have a clean, sea-salt smell and bright silver skin. If they smell of anything other than the coast, leave them. Frozen will do well enough if fresh aren't to be had, but dry them properly or the oil will make you regret it.